Prima Donna
by Orangejolius
Summary: A tempestuous redhead transfers to South Park High and manages to steal Stan's heart, but who is she really?
1. Chapter 1

Notes: You can thank Marina and the Diamonds for this one, I suppose. 3 I've always wanted to dress Kyle up in fur and diamonds...I guess I'm finally getting my chance, you guys. lol. Hope everyone enjoys. :D Chapter Management

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Chapter 1: All I Ever Wanted Was the World Chapter Text

Stan was only slightly tipsy the day Kylie first arrived at South Park High, a fact that he was somewhat proud of, all things considered.

He couldn't exactly say when he'd started taking a shot before making the trek to school, but it had become a part of his routine; he could hardly deny that at this point. One little shot of Jack in the morning was enough to take the edge off so he could deal, the alcohol seeping into his blood and making him loose. Life was easier to handle when it was cloudy, the sharp edges sanded down just a tad. So far, no one had noticed his pre-school shot of courage, and he planned to keep it that way. No, it was a secret best kept between himself and Jack Daniels, the half-full bottle languishing in his bottom drawer.

On this particular Tuesday, Stan was riding his buzz nicely as he sat in homeroom, the windows showcasing the falling snow as it wafted down in airy clumps. The sky was deluged in white, and the classroom had taken on a drowsy, warm quality as the students waited for the bell to ring; heads resting on desks and quiet chatter filling the air. Kenny was attempting to catch a few minutes of sleep in the desk next to Stan as Cartman shoved the remainder of a breakfast sandwich between his greasy lips. Stan watched the display with a languid air, his thoughts quieted from the alcohol and the warmth enveloping him as the heater creaked in the walls.

The door opened without preamble and in walked an unfamiliar figure, red hair shining in scarlet curlicues that fell against delicate, fur-covered shoulders. For the first time in awhile, Stan found himself taking an interest in something that didn't involve inebriation, and he sat forward; eyes drinking in the stranger.

"You must be the new girl," Mr. Mackey commented, glancing at the piece of paper she handed to him. "So, you're..."

"Kylie," she replied, her voice possessing an odd sweetness Stan couldn't pinpoint.

"And your last name?" Mr. Mackey asked, still reading over the paper but not looking up.

"I hardly think that matters to these people," Kylie replied, the sweetness taking on a bit of an edge. "Besides, it's written right there." She reached out a slender hand and pointed it out on the slip still gripped in the teacher's hand. "See?"

Mr. Mackey finally looked up, cocking an eyebrow at what he clearly considered insolence. Kylie just smiled back brightly, her nose scrunching up cutely.

"I see," he replied, handing the paper back which she took between manicured fingers. "Well, would you like to introduce yourself to the class?"

"Not really," she said, eliciting a quiet titter from the classroom. "Everyone knows that's a nightmare for a new kid. I'd rather just take a seat, if that's alright with you."

He just stared at her for a moment, a frown tugging at his mouth. Stan watched with amusement; clearly he had not been prepared for this sort of attitude so quickly. But really, what could he say? Kylie had an edge, but she was just so polite at the same time; exuding what could almost be considered subliminal bitchiness. Glancing away, Mr. Mackey scanned the room with narrowed eyes until they settled on the chair right next to Craig's, who was watching the spectacle with his typical stoic expression. He pointed it out.

"There, just sit there," he said. "The bell's going to be ringing soon anyway."

"Wonderful, thank you," she replied graciously, turning on her heel, white high heeled Mary Janes adorning her feet. As she made her way down the aisle, she raised an eyebrow at Clyde who quickly picked up his bag to give her space to walk by. A mint green ribbon was wound around her head, a bow nestled in her vibrant hair and complementing it perfectly.

"She's cute," Kenny murmured, having sat up upon hearing Kylie's back and forth with Mr. Mackey. "Don't you think?"

Even though Kenny had been quiet, Kylie looked up and stared directly at Stan, their eyes meeting for a moment and making his heart pound; taking him completely by surprise. There was wry amusement in the girl's shaded green eyes, but there was something else, too; something decidedly wild. For a moment Stan almost felt completely sober as he stared into those eyes, but as quickly as their gazes locked, Kylie turned away and settled into her seat. She set her bag on the floor and placed a Caboodle on the desk in front of her, opening it to pull out a tube of pink lip gloss. Almost everyone in the class watched as she daintily applied it to her lips, the boys' eyes taking on a lustful cast; faint predatory lights illuminating a multitude of covetous irises.

Stan couldn't help but admire Kylie. Not just because she was cute, which she certainly was, there was no denying that. No, it had to do with her demeanor, her completely unruffled nature. She had to realize that every person was staring at her in that moment, but she acted like she was completely alone; not even glancing around as she pulled out a compact and fluffed out her curls a little. She gave off a vibe that suggested she was used to being stared at and it didn't faze her. If anything, she expected it even if she wasn't going to acknowledge it; confidence radiating through her entire stature.

"She's more than cute," Stan replied, studying the girl's delicate back and the way her fur coat draped itself over her frame. "She's different."

As the weeks passed, Stan quickly noticed that Kylie wasn't the sort of person to actively seek anyone out. If anything, she seemed to have her own gravitational pull, and people just naturally flocked to her, making friends very quickly. But as he watched her, he saw that they weren't actual friendships; not in the true sense of the word. It seemed that she wouldn't allow for that, keeping everyone at arms' length and allowing acquaintances but nothing more. Every boy who had scraped up enough courage to ask her out had been shot down immediately, almost like she didn't even have to give the proposition a second thought.

"I don't want a relationship right now," she explained to Kevin Stoley, one finger tapping against her mouth; glitter sparkling on her long fingernail. "You understand, don't you?"

Kevin hung his head, a hangdog expression on his face, but he nodded slowly; eyes situated on the floor. Reaching out, she settled her hand on his chin and tipped his face up, a kind smile drifting across her glossy lips.

"You seem like a nice person," she said, softly. "I'm truly sorry but I'm afraid I wouldn't treat you very well."

Stan, who had been eavesdropping nearby under the pretense of retrieving his books from his locker, could only raise his eyebrows at that declaration. What the hell did it even mean? Kevin seemed just as confused, but he fairly melted into Kylie's touch as it lingered on his chin. Abruptly, she pulled away and ran a hand through her long curls, taking care not to disturb the ice blue ribbon she was wearing that day.

"Anyway, see you around."

Without another word, she turned away and drifted down the hall, walking alone and taking no notice of the stares following in her perfumed wake. Stan watched her as well, vision blurring a little from the shot he'd taken in the bathroom during lunch but sharp enough to take in her slender fragility, coltish legs wrapped in white leggings under a wispy blue dress. He almost went up to Kevin to offer his condolences for his shattered pride but decided against it. If he'd been in his position he wouldn't want any half-assed sympathy; no, he'd want to slink off to the shadows to lick his wounds in peace.

It wasn't too long before Kylie had created quite a swath of casualties through South Park High; decimated hearts scattered hither and yon. She was unperturbed though and she was never unkind, just matter-of-fact and unrelenting in her casual honestly. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind nor was she afraid to stand up for those around her, which everyone learned one fateful day in mid-December.

Lunch was in full swing, the cafeteria filled with voices and clinking cutlery; trays being slammed down and chairs scraped back. Kylie was sitting at her usual place in the middle of the room, a Tab clutched in one hand with a red and white striped straw laid against plump lips. She was paging through a Cosmo as the other girls gathered around her, Wendy sitting off to her side and Heidi taking the other seat beside her. Stan was sitting across the room with Kenny and Cartman but his thoughts weren't with them, his entire being focused on the redhead sitting like a queen among her handmaidens.

"Dude, you've been so spacey lately," Kenny commented, biting into an apple. He followed Stan's gaze and smirked, shaking his head a little. "So, you're caught under her spell too?"

Stan shook himself from his quiet vigil and felt for his flask in his pocket, having every intention of taking a quick nip after he ate his sandwich. He cocked an eyebrow at Kenny, annoyed at being pegged and even more irritated at himself for being so obvious.

"It isn't like that," he snapped, biting into his sandwich and wrinkling his nose; egg salad, again.

"Oh?" Kenny asked, setting his apple aside. "Do tell."

"What's there to tell?" Stan replied, agitated as his morning buzz wore off. Maybe he'd just forgo the fucking sandwich and dive right into the flask instead. "I think she's interesting. That's all."

"You think she's hot, don't lie," Cartman interjected, scooping up some residual nacho cheese with one plump finger. "Just like every other fucker in this stupid school."

Stan glared at him, almost feeling irrationally angry that someone like Cartman could lay eyes on Kylie and appraise her like she was nothing more than livestock.

"She's attractive," he conceded through gritted teeth. "But that's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" Kenny asked, propping his head in his hand and glancing at Stan with genuine interest; blue eyes devoid of antagonism.

Stan lapsed into a contemplative silence, hardly able to formulate a response because he scarcely knew the answer himself. How could he explain that he clung to the bewitching redhead because she actually captured his interest, something that hadn't happened in so long he could barely conceive of it. He'd been drifting through the days like a sleepwalker, Jack Daniels burning through his blood and making the waking hours bearable, but after Kylie had arrived, he almost felt like he'd partially woken up. True, he was still drinking, but he didn't feel as listless, the hopelessness abating somewhat when his eyes settled on her; her fire lighting up the world and making him _feel_ something for once.

If Stan had been better able to articulate himself he might have been able to piece together some of his thoughts, but as it stood he could only shrug and clutch at the flask in his pocket. His gaze flitted back to Kylie and his heart almost stuttered to see her lean her head back and laugh at something one of her friends said, pearly teeth shining among glittery lip gloss. She was a vision in a hunter green sweater dress, a matching headband pushing her scarlet curls off of her forehead. All at once though, she righted herself and when her eyes drifted upward they immediately locked with Stan's, and the connection was like a streak of lightning pointed straight at his core. After a moment, she winked slowly, feathery lashes resting against soft, freckled skin.

"Dude, did she just wink at you?" Kenny asked in an awed voice. "You saw that, right?"

"N-no, of course not," Stan stammered, hardly believing what just happened. It had been a fluke, right? There was no way she would've ever afforded even that small gesture to someone like him, a quiet, out of the way person who could barely struggle through the days.

"You should go talk to her," Kenny said, tapping him excitedly on the arm. "I think she's sort of into you, man."

"Sort of into me? That's reassuring," Stan replied, rolling his eyes. He'd immediately broken eye contact with her as soon as she'd made that slight overture, too afraid to look back and risk meeting her gaze again. Now he really needed a drink, to slow his frantic heartbeat; to quiet his racing thoughts. Before he could stand and flee to the bathroom though, a commotion could be heard coming from Kylie's table.

"Excuse me?" Kylie was saying, looking up at Clyde with obvious distaste, perfect eyebrows arched. He was leaning on the table like he owned the place, cocky attitude on full display as he leered at the scandalized redhead.

"I said I want to take you out this Saturday," Clyde said, sliding one hand into the pocket of his letterman's jacket. Ever since he'd become the captain of the football team he'd walked around campus like he had a set of sterling silver testicles; his entire manner radiating a cock of the walk superiority. It was undeserved, but that didn't stop him at all.

Kylie glanced around the table like she was conspiring with her own personal court, the other girls watching with narrowed eyes as they took in the scene. When she looked back at Clyde she seemed even more irritated.

"I thought you were going out with Bebe," she said, picking up her Tab again and slowly removing the straw and laying it aside.

"Bebe? Please, I dropped her this morning," Clyde replied, waving a hand dismissively. "Besides, I've been wanting to ask you out since the first day you got here."

"Is that so?" Kylie asked. Turning her head, she looked at Wendy. "Would you mind moving aside for a second? This will only take a moment."

Wendy looked puzzled but did as Kylie asked, standing up and moving out of the way so there was no one between Kylie and Clyde.

"Bebe really cared about you, you know," Kylie said, holding the Tab loosely; her casual tone belying the expression on her face. "She was crying in class this morning. Did you know that?"

"So?" Clyde shrugged dismissively, standing and jamming his other hand in his jacket pocket. "I made it pretty clear when we first started going out that I didn't want anything serious with her. It's her own fault for getting attached."

Kylie smirked and shook her head, fluffy curls catching the overhead lights and illuminating copper highlights. She looked around at the girls again, who were all radiating hostility at this point; almost the entire cafeteria zeroing in on the melodrama unfolding.

"Did you hear that, girls?" She asked, incredulously; her tongue drifting over her full bottom lip. "It's Bebe's fault for having feelings. Isn't that rich?"

"Hey, that's not what I -"

"Quiet," Kylie said, softly, cutting him off. She cut her eyes back to Clyde and now her whole expression had changed, raw fury only serving to make her prettier. Her eyes darkened slightly, taking on the appearance of a forest deluged in shadow.

"You know what you are?" She asked, standing slowly and brushing at her dress daintily. "Hmm?"

"No, what?" Clyde asked, suspicion finally registering on his face. He could be considered boyishly handsome, even if his demeanor gave off a callous disregard for basic decency.

"You're the walking talking equivalent of a yeast infection," Kylie said. "You're the type of person that does shitty things and then blames the other person for being hurt. Just so you don't have to take ownership for being an insufferable prick. Does that sound accurate?"

A hush fell over the room as everyone stared at Clyde, complete shock stealing the cockiness from his features. Soft giggles could be heard running through the crowd, but other than that it was so quiet that you could've heard a pin being dropped. He turned bright red and when he drew his hands from his pockets, Stan could see that they were clenching into shaking fists.

"You fucking bitch," he seethed. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"

"I already told you, the embodiment of an intolerable infection," Kylie shot back, not missing a beat. "You're also the type of person who calls a girl a bitch just for speaking the truth. Typical." In an instant, she swung her arm upward and unleashed a stream of fluid from her bottle of Tab, the contents drenching Clyde's face. He just stood there, completely taken aback as a ripple of discord broke through the crowd; everyone coming to life at once.

"I think it goes without saying, but there's no way in hell I'd ever go out with you," she added, setting the empty bottle down gently. "But thanks, anyway."

Clyde seemed to have exited his own body as the entire cafeteria began to laugh, the fluid soaking into his hair and drenching the front of his jacket. Kylie was gathering her things as the girls at the table pointed at Clyde, all of them erupting into gales of giggles at his humiliation. He didn't move an inch even when Mr. Mackey blustered over, his face stony as he swooped down on a very calm Kylie.

"Young lady, you march yourself -"

"Down to the office, I know," Kylie interrupted, already walking away. She glanced over her shoulder at the other girls and waved a little. "Let's meet up at my place after school, okay? We'll help Bebe celebrate her liberation from that poor example of the patriarchy." As she walked by Clyde she patted his arm condescendingly.

"Better luck next time, tiger."

Once again, every eye fell on Kylie as she sashayed out of the cafeteria, the din only truly returning once she was gone. Mr. Mackey glanced at Clyde and shook his head tiredly, daring to put his hand on Clyde's shoulder and directing him toward the bathroom. Clyde angrily shook him off and finally seemed to wake up, stalking out of the room as his face continued to burn a bright red; jeers and taunts following him as he went. Stan just sat in silence, his thoughts drifting away from the room and following Kylie instead.

"Okay, maybe you talking to her wouldn't be the best idea," Kenny commented, biting into his apple again. "She seems a little feisty."

"Clyde has a point, you guys," Cartman chimed in, slurping up some Coke. "She's kind of a bitch."

"You would say that," Stan said, pushing himself up from the table. "You're a shit stain just like Clyde."

"Where are you going?" Kenny asked, smirking at Cartman as he shot daggers at Stan; muttering under his breath.

"To the can," Stan replied, already turning away; the flask practically burning a hole in his pocket. "See you in class."

He walked, head down, to the bathroom, ignoring the aftermath of Kylie's public demonstration, gossip flowing through the air like noxious vapor. Walking into the silent room, he headed into the first stall and immediately felt calmness descending as he shut the door and locked it. Fishing the flask out of his pocket, he plopped down on the toilet and took a long pull, Jack burning down his throat nicely as it settled in his empty belly. He hadn't finished his lunch so he was almost certain he was going to be sitting pretty before too long; the haze helping him coast through the rest of the day.

As much as he tried to empty his mind, his thoughts kept turning back to the tempestuous redhead, her flashing eyes and cutting words; brash confidence threading through everything she did. He just couldn't help but admire her unspoken faith in herself, offering up no apologies for her conduct; walking through the world like she owned it. If anything, her entire personality shouted to the world at large that it owed her something. He smirked, remembering her flinging her drink in Clyde's face, his utter consternation as the fluid flowed down his skin.

"That fucking bastard," he murmured, taking another sip. "He deserved it."

Idly, he glanced at the tiled wall next to him, his eyes floating over ghostly graffiti from bygone days; most of it unspeakably crude. In bright red marker someone had written "For a good time call Kylie: 1-800-CUNT" in huge block letters, no doubt penned by one of her spurned suitors. Rolling his eyes, Stan reached into his backpack and pulled out a black Sharpie and set to work blotting it out, annoyed that people would respond this way to being rejected. As he eradicated it, he noticed another message that genuinely made him smile:

 **"I DESERVE THE WORLD."**

After he finished covering up the offensive graffiti, he circled the statement and added a couple stars for good measure; Kylie's face clear in his mind with every mark he made. Vaguely, he became aware that he was feeling the first stirrings of desire as her smile rested in his thoughts, and quickly he reached for his flask and drank deeply; relishing its burn.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: This Masquerade

Summary: Stan continues to pine for Kylie while navigating life and its many ups and downs...all while being three sheets to the wind, of course. Clyde is still an asshole and Kylie ain't having it. Secrets abound, but no one's ready to talk about them yet. Also, there's a masquerade party for good measure, lol.

Notes: At first I didn't think I could get a handle on writing Kyle's girl persona, but it's surprisingly easy. I like her. She doesn't take shit from anyone; work it, girl. I hope everyone enjoys the story. 3 Comments are always appreciated...it keeps my flighty ass on track, lmao.

Chapter Text

 **Are we really happy with**  
 **This lonely game we play**  
 **Looking for the right words to say**  
 **Searching but not finding**  
 **Understanding anyway**  
 **We're lost in this masquerade**

-This Masquerade, The Carpenters

* * *

There's something to be said for the beauty of a room illuminated by morning snowfall, and when Stan opened his eyes and cleared the sleep dust from them, he could only lay in quiet repose for a moment; watching the flakes swirling past his window. The quiet headache thumping behind his temples wasn't enough to keep him from admiring the murky glow of his room, the walls shrouded with grey shadows as another snowstorm passed through South Park; icy winds rattling the house and striking the windowpanes. His tongue tasted of residual whiskey and ached for water, but when he sat up and pressed his fingers to his forehead, all he could think of was the bottle waiting in the bottom drawer.

He strongly debated whether or not he should take a shot that morning. After all, this wasn't a typical school day or anything. Winter break was winding down and he'd been invited to Token's New Year's Eve party that evening, an affair which would no doubt be swanky and over the top. His tuxedo was waiting in his closet and so was his mask, and once again he cringed as his mind's eye conjured up the elaborate invitation he'd received in the mail; ornamented with swirls of hunter green and gold.

"A masquerade party," he murmured, continuing to rub his forehead; vague aches lancing through his heavy head. "He would turn it into a fucking masquerade party."

It's not that he had anything against Token or parties in general, but the thought of being swallowed up by a crowd and getting lost in the noise filled him with apprehension. It didn't help that Wendy would probably spend the evening wrapped up in Token's arms, practically becoming the belle of the ball as Stan watched from the wings. He hadn't loved her in a romantic sense for so long, but seeing them together still hurt, because what they had seemed to represent everything Stan lacked; hope, happiness, motivation, a person to turn to in times of trial.

The only thing really prompting Stan to go was the thought of seeing Kylie, whom he hadn't laid eyes on since school let out for the holidays. It was crazy, he'd never even had a conversation with her but he still missed her, missed seeing her face and her restless eyes. Sighing, he rubbed a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, his eyes lingering on the coverlet as his mind roved aimlessly, thoughts of scarlet curls and slender legs clad in lacy stockings plaguing him relentlessly. Stan still hadn't managed to pluck up the courage to approach Kylie, a fact which only seemed to reinforce his preoccupation with her. He just couldn't stomach the idea of rejection though, having seen practically every other guy get shot down by her without even a second thought.

It was with reluctance that Stan threw his legs over the side of his bed and stood, feeling a little shaky as the hangover from the night before made his head pound. For a moment, his eyes lingered on the bottom drawer of his dresser but in a surprising turn he decided to forgo his morning shot, opting instead to throw his robe on and travel downstairs to search out food and water; maybe a little coffee too if his mother had already brewed a pot. He knew he was in for it when he heard Boston playing in the living room as he descended the staircase, his feet cold against the chill resting along the floor. When he made it downstairs, he could see his father in his robe and standing in front of the stereo, throwing up a peace sign while holding a beer bottle in the other. Randy Marsh was singing about never looking back as the smells of freshly brewed coffee wafted in from the kitchen.

"Morning," Stan said, ambling through the room and staring at the bottle clutched in his father's hand. It wasn't even 9 am yet.

Turning, Randy smirked as he took a little sip of beer, hair mussed and 5 o'clock shadow on full display. His robe was open and all he had on underneath were a pair of too-tight underpants, dingy white from multiple washes.

"Come rock out with me, Stan," he slurred, stumbling a little and steadying himself on the back of an easy chair. "Hey, did I ever tell you about the summer of '79? It was the best fucking summer of my life. Did you know that?"

Stan rolled his eyes and continued on toward the kitchen, really regretting his sober state of mind; headache or no.

"Yeah, dad. Multiple times. I don't need to hear the story again. Could you, like, put some pants on or something? Please?"

Randy snorted and turned back to the stereo, cranking it up another notch.

"Pants are for suckers, Stan. You'll learn that before too long." He knocked back another drink of beer.

"Right," Stan replied, heading into the kitchen where his mother was sitting at the table, laptop open in front of her and glasses perched on her nose.

"There's coffee," she said, taking a drink from her own mug as her eyes lingered on the screen; its glow reflected in her spectacles.

"Thank god." Stan snagged a mug from the cabinet and went to work fixing a cup, his entire body tensed and ready for the first caffeine splash to truly bring it to life. Taking a long, comforting drink, he sighed a little and leaned back against the counter, frowning at the back of his mother's head.

"I thought we agreed that he wasn't going to listen to Boston in the morning anymore," he commented. "Or at all."

"I wasn't in the mood for an argument this morning," Mrs. Marsh replied. "If your father wants to relive his glory days, let him. Besides, I can pay the bills while he's entertaining himself."

"You do realize that you talk about dad like he's your kid, right?"

She shrugged, taking another drink of coffee.

"Men never really grow up."

"That's really reassuring to hear," Stan said, finishing the coffee in his mug and going to pour himself some more. "Thanks for that."

Mrs. Marsh stretched out her arms and sighed softly, removing her glasses and rubbing at her eyes for a moment. Setting them aside, she turned in her chair to regard her son.

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing," she said. "It's just a fact of life, Stanley. I've learned to live with it."

"You've learned to live with a lot of things," Stan commented. He half expected his mother to chastise him for his cheek, but she only sighed again and plucked up her glasses to settle them on her face.

"That's another fact of life," she replied, dryly. "So, are you excited about the party tonight? You have everything you need, right? Is your tux okay? I had it dry cleaned for you."

Groaning, Stan came over to the table and plopped down in a chair, his mug of coffee still in his hand. His mother peered at him, one eyebrow cocked at his expression.

"You don't seem very enthusiastic."

"Honestly? I'm not," Stan replied, running a hand through his hair. The music in the living room stopped for a moment, plunging the house into a deep quiet as the snow skittered against the windows, the harsh ticking of a clock over the stove reminding him of the passage of time.

"Are you going with your friends or a date?" Mrs. Marsh asked, turning back to the laptop.

Stan rolled his eyes and finished off the coffee in his mug. Leave it to a mom to add salt to a wound. Unbidden, thoughts of Kylie resurfaced in his mind and for a moment his entire focus was arrested by green eyes and freckled skin.

"I'm going with Kenny," he replied. "And Cartman too, I guess, though I'd rather not," he added.

"I'm sure you'll have fun," Mrs. Marsh smiled, reaching out suddenly and settling a hand on top of Stan's; she squeezed it softly. "You've seemed so down lately, I hope being around your friends helps a little."

Becoming awkward, Stan could feel himself blushing slightly. He hadn't honestly expected his mother to notice his ongoing listlessness but he supposed it made sense. She seemed to notice everything, why wouldn't she notice this? He studied his mother's face for a moment as she continued to pay bills, her eyes narrowed as she focused on the laptop's screen. Surprised, he noticed twinges of grey streaking through her brown hair, the silver illuminated by the soft glow of the overhead lights.

"Where did you meet dad?" He asked, suddenly.

She glanced at him, a perplexed expression on her face, but then she smiled slowly and rested her chin on her interlocked fingers.

"I'd like to tell you that we met at a romantic roadside cafe, but I'm afraid our story isn't that glamorous," she replied, eyes softening with nostalgia. "If anything, our story is pretty typical, Stanley. I met your father in high school."

"So, you're high school sweethearts?"

"More or less," Mrs. Marsh shrugged.

Stan leaned back in his chair and considered this bit of information, not sure if he should be impressed that they'd managed to stay together for so long, or sad that his parents never had the chance to really branch out from their tiny hometown.

"Was he like this even back then?" He asked, gesturing toward the living room where the music was still blaring; the sound of his father's off-key singing cutting through the early morning atmosphere.

"I'm afraid so," his mother smiled. "Your father's always had a hard time being serious, but I don't mind it." She thought a moment. "Most of the time, anyway," she added.

"I just don't get it," Stan said, trying to choose his words carefully because he didn't want to hurt his mother's feelings; or invite her wrath, either. "How did you two..." he trailed off, finding himself unable to finish the question. He was starting to think that there really was no tactful way to broach this subject.

His mother seemed to understand though, and she nodded her head slowly.

"Some decisions only impact you in the moment you make them," she replied, crossing her arms as she spoke; each word deliberate as it passed her lips. "Others impact you for the rest of your life, almost like they're a debt you're paying off." She held up a finger, her brown eyes serious. "Don't misunderstand me. Many times these decisions turn into blessings, but still, they stay with you. Do you get what I'm trying to say here?"

Stan stood and took his empty mug to the sink, his mind whirring with what his mother was saying and not saying at the same time. Vague understanding was flowing through his brain, and the knowledge was disturbing even if it made perverse sense.

"Have you heard from Shelly lately?" He asked, grabbing an apple from the basket on the counter. "How are her classes going?"

Mrs. Marsh had turned back to her laptop and her focus was settled firmly on the screen.

"She's doing fine, all things considered," she replied. "But you never know with her, you know? She's never been the most open person."

"Tell me about it," he said, taking a big bite of the fruit; honeyed juices flowing through his mouth and washing away the bitter coffee. He started to walk out of the kitchen.

"Let me know if you need anything for tonight, okay?" His mom called behind him.

"Sure," he replied, walking back into the living room where his father was dozing in his easy chair now, beer bottle still clutched in his hand as Boston continued to play. As he passed through, Stan turned the music down and adjusted Randy's robe so that it at least covered his front; he didn't stir.

When he'd made it back to his room, Stan stood at the window for a moment and watched the snowflakes continuing to drift idly by, settling sporadically on the ground without rhyme or reason. The apple slid down his throat in sweet chunks and when he'd finished, he pitched the core in the trash; his eyes coming to rest on the bottom drawer again. His body almost acted of its own accord when he walked over to it and slid it open, his hand gripping the bottle and pulling it out; amber fluid sloshing hypnotically against clear glass.

"What's an apple without a chaser?" He murmured, uncapping the bottle and tipping it into his mouth; the sounds of Boston straining through the floor and washing all around him.

The party proved to be an ostentatious affair, which came as no surprise to Stan even if it didn't exactly please him. He was okay with casual keggers and small get-togethers, bonfire parties hosted on the shore of Stark's Pond, but this was like stepping into another world entirely.

Token's house had always been impressive, but it was especially grand that New Year's Eve. The house was strung with white, glittering fairy lights, and inside the decorations were the colors of the invitations; hunter green and gold. The staircase was strung with golden lights and swirls of bunting while tables laden with food and drink were illuminated by the giant crystal chandelier overhead. Clutches of poinsettias adorned every table, glossy green leaves studded with sharp points and vivid scarlet petals; elaborate centerpieces nestled among plates of hors d'oeuvres. Stan barely recognized his classmates as they milled about in their finery, masks obscuring their faces as everyone got into the masquerade atmosphere.

Stan hadn't exactly been too keen about getting dressed up, and had opted for a very simple black mask in place of the more over the top ones he saw on the other party goers; the girls especially.

"What do you want to bet Wendy talked Token into making this a masquerade party?" Kenny asked, tugging at the collar of his rented tux. He'd opted for simplicity as well, and his mask was smooth and white, his icy blue eyes peering around the room.

"I have no doubt she was behind it," Stan replied, scanning the scene and automatically focusing in on and Token and Wendy. They had clearly gone for a matching theme, and they were both wearing elaborate masks decorated with gold and green feathers. Stan almost sighed to see Wendy looking so pretty, dressed in a sleeveless green gown and her dark hair flowing down her back in ebony waves.

"Token cleans up nice," Kenny commented, taking a sip of punch from a champagne flute. "Then again, he can afford to. Clearly." He gestured around the room as Stan watched Token hold his arm out to Wendy, leading her out onto the dance floor where she fell into his arms.

"At least the food is good," Cartman said, walking up to them with a loaded plate, one pudgy hand pushing back his mask so it was settled among his light brown hair.

"Is that a batman mask?" Stan asked, rolling his eyes as his hand slid into his pocket; his fingers settling around the flask waiting there.

"Fuck yeah, it is," Cartman replied, popping a deviled egg into his mouth. "What, you think I was going to buy something for this bullshit when I had a perfectly good mask already?"

"At the risk of sounding like an asshole, you are no Bruce Wayne, fat ass," Kenny commented, taking another swig of punch.

"You won't be saying that when I give you a roundhouse kick to the jaw, you poor piece of crap."

"I'd be impressed if you could even lift your leg that high," Kenny replied. "In fact, if you could, I would just let you kick me because I'd be witnessing a fucking miracle."

"Hey! How's about I -"

"Will you two please shut the fuck up?" Stan interjected, holding up his hands. "Here we are at a fancy party and you guys are still acting like assholes. I can't fucking take you anywhere, I swear to God."

Kenny snorted.

"I didn't realize we were your dates for the evening, Stan." He ran a hand through his rough, blonde hair. "If I'd known that I would've put more effort into my appearance."

"On that note, I think it's time for me to get a drink," Stan replied, rolling his eyes. "I'll meet up with you guys later. Or not. I'm still on the fence, honestly."

Feeling irritated and too warm, Stan made his way through the crowd and over to the punch bowl, fully intending to add an extra ingredient to his glass once he'd obtained a little privacy. He had just secured a cupful when he glanced up, and immediately his heart went into overdrive as his mouth went dry.

Kylie was descending the staircase, the golden lights hung along the banister reflecting off of her slinky silver dress, rows of sequins adhering to her slender form. Her scarlet curls were swept up into a simple up-do, stray wisps of hair framing her face. Her mask was silver as well, with white feathers adorning the sides and making it look like outstretched swan's wings. Someone called to her and she turned slightly, and Stan's breath caught in his throat when he saw that the straps of her gown had feathers on the back as well, matching her mask almost perfectly; the train of her gown sliding over the stairs as she moved.

It was almost like he was witnessing someone step out of a dream, and his cup of punch was nearly forgotten in his hand as he watched her come to the bottom of the stairs. She seemed to be scanning the crowd, but before she could even make her way into the throng of people she was being besieged by tuxedo-clad suitors, all of them no doubt feverishly asking her for a dance. Smiling graciously, she finally lifted a slender hand and rested it on someone's arm, and when they turned Stan saw that it was Butters; pink cheeks flushed with pleasure and his eyes lost behind a blue mask.

Faint rumbles of jealousy flitted through Stan's gut as he watched Kylie move around the dance floor, her dainty silver heels practically floating as she switched between partners; tinkling music filling the air. As the night wore on, Stan practically emptied his flask as he poured cup after cup of punch, his eyes hungrily resting on Kylie as she was wooed and whirled around the floor. He lingered in a shadowed alcove away from the fray, leaning against the wall as the alcohol poisoned his blood and made him begin to fade. Tender thoughts gave way to nearly violent longings, his entire focus arrested by Kylie's slender back and the feathers resting there, her wings leading her everywhere except toward him.

"You know, you could just ask her to dance," a quiet voice broke into his haze, startling him. Turning, Stan saw Kenny standing there, his face devoid of his mask as he regarded his friend with concerned eyes. "You've been watching her all night, dude."

"I've been watching her a lot longer than that," Stan replied, glancing back to the dance floor and finding the little redhead immediately.

"That sounded pretty creepy, man," Kenny said, wryly. "At any rate, nothing's going to happen if you never make a move."

"You think I don't know that?" Stan snapped, past the point where the booze made him feel fuzzy and serene. No, now he was getting into aggressive territory. Shaking his head, he tried to collect himself even though his head continued to spin. "I can't just ask her to dance, Kenny. I can't ask her for anything."

"Why not?"

Stan almost didn't answer Kenny's question because he was so fixated on Kylie, who was finally breaking away from the boys clamoring for her attentions; her face flushed with exertion as she headed for the refreshments.

"Stan?" Kenny asked, shaking him a little.

Angrily, Stan pulled his arm away from Kenny as he watched Kylie drink a flute of sparkling cider; one hand dabbing at her forehead with a handkerchief.

"Goddammit, I'm not good enough for her, okay?" He finally said, slightly panicked at the first stirrings of nausea welling up in his belly. Reluctantly, he let go of the flask still waiting in his pocket.

"That's ridiculous," Kenny replied. "You don't even know her, Stan. Who's to say she isn't good enough for you?"

"Don't be a dumbass, Kenny. Just look at her."

Kenny glanced over at Kylie and narrowed his eyes, his head turning as he watched her sequined form travel across the room and through the french doors leading to Token's backyard.

"I am looking at her, Stan. She's just another person. I mean, yeah, she's pretty and everything but what else do you really know about her? You haven't even given yourself a chance here."

"I don't deserve one," Stan replied, realizing too late just how pathetic he sounded. He couldn't help it, though. How could he tell Kenny that Kylie represented some strange, fantastical ideal to him? She was almost like a fever dream, a mirage, that would disappear if he dared to get too close. It also frightened him that just her presence seemed to cut through his numbed state, almost like he'd been frozen for centuries and one look from her was akin to being plunged into flames.

"Like Hell you don't," Kenny said, getting behind Stan and pushing him out of the shadows. "Move your ass, Stan. I've had enough of your bullshit."

"Hey, what are you doing?!" Stan yelped as Kenny continued to prod him along, nearly stumbling from nerves and alcohol.

"I'm doing what I should've done weeks ago. I'm forcing you to make a move because clearly you want to," Kenny said, simply. He gave Stan one last shove and crossed his arms, his face stern. "She's outside. Just go fucking talk to her."

"I-I can't, what if -"

"What if nothing. There's always the chance that you'll strike out, but right now you have no idea what'll happen," Kenny said, blocking Stan's way when he tried to escape back to the safety of the alcove. "Who knows? Maybe something good will happen. Wouldn't that be nice for a change of pace?" He gave Stan a pointed look and fished something out of his pocket, throwing it at him.

Clumsily, Stan grabbed it and glanced down, a pack of spearmint gum laying across his palm.

"So you won't smell like the French Quarter," Kenny winked. "Now go."

Gulping, Stan nodded his head slightly, sweat already beginning to gather on his brow as he shakily pulled out a piece of gum. Turning, he wandered through the crowd, bumping against people and apologizing profusely as his trembling fingers worked at the silver wrapper. It wasn't until he'd made it to the patio doors that he had managed to open the gum and place it in his mouth, the sharp flavors of mint cutting through the booze and refreshing him slightly. It disturbed him that Kenny had noticed the alcohol drenching his breath, but he supposed that was a conversation for another day. Clearly he hadn't been as low-key as he would've hoped.

Steeling himself for impending rejection, Stan pushed open the door and stepped out onto the patio, the night's chill overtaking him as his eyes adjusted. The trees were strung with white fairy lights just like the house, and the clouds had parted giving way to an icy moon; the snow having stopped falling several hours before. His shoes crunched through lacy patches of ice as he wandered over the red flagstones, his breath breaking through his lips in smoky puffs. The Blacks' patio was expansive, and it wasn't until he'd rounded a corner that he came upon a sight that automatically filled him with fury, his hands clenching into hard, shaking fists.

Stan hadn't noticed Clyde leaving the party at any point so he was surprised to see him there, his hands clenched on Kylie's bare upper arms as he shook her violently. Her mask lay forgotten on the ground and he was shaking her so hard that her hair was beginning to fall from its up-do, tiny yelps of pain eking from her mouth as she tried to fight against him. He looked handsome in his tuxedo with his dark brown hair slicked back, but his face had taken on an angry predatory cast, eyes narrowed as he snarled at her; hurling abusive words as he jolted her back and forth like a delicate rag doll.

"So, you'll fucking dance with every asshole here but you won't even go out with me? Huh?" He yelled, fingers gripping porcelain skin so tightly that Stan winced at the sight. "You're just a cock-teasing slut, aren't you? You only pretend that you're playing hard to get, but you're just a dirty fucking whore."

"L-let me go!" Kylie shrieked, pulling away desperately but to no avail. Before Stan could intervene, she brought her knee up and tried to connect with Clyde's groin, causing him to jump back to protect himself. Snapping his head up, he let go of one of her arms so he could slap her hard across the face, knocking her to the ground.

When Stan saw the streak of blood falling from Kylie's mouth, it woke up a beast inside of his heart and suddenly he was moving, making a beeline for Clyde and drawing his fist back to strike.

"Get the fuck away from her, you son of a bitch!" He barked, coming closer as Kylie cowered on the ground, delicate shoulders heaving as she began to cry.

"Stay out of this, Marsh," Clyde snapped, reaching for Kylie again who could only hold up her arms to protect herself; scarlet curls cascading around her shoulders in disarray.

"No fucking way," Stan seethed, knocking Clyde back and taking a hold of the front of his tux, yanking him close so they were practically nose to nose. He was in the process of bringing his fist forward when suddenly he felt a lurch in his belly, and all at once he was vomiting violently all over Clyde. All the contents of his stomach streamed out of his mouth as he continued to heave, Clyde trying to pull away as he started to gag; face awash in disgust.

"Jesus Christ, get the fuck away from me, man!"

Letting go of Clyde, Stan sunk to his knees as he continued to vomit, his vision becoming blurry. He tried to concentrate on the icy cold stones under his hands but he couldn't, and he knew that he was two steps away from blacking out completely.

 _Maybe I shouldn't have had so much to drink,_ he thought, gagging again as he started to bring up burning bile.

Blearily, he could hear Clyde still freaking out, but then another sound broke through the ruckus; high heels clacking against hard flagstones. Through the fog, he saw that Kylie had managed to get to her feet and she was holding up her dress as she stalked up to Clyde, her hair falling down her back in soft waves. The moonlight struck the sequins of her dress almost making it look like she was dripping with cold water. At the last moment, Stan noticed that she had something clutched in her free hand; a tiny bottle.

"I'm not a cock-tease just because I'm not fucking interested in you, you disgusting pig," she spat, lifting the bottle after she garnered Clyde's attention, his mean eyes wide with surprise. In less than a second, she sprayed something in his face and he began to scream, scraping at his face wildly.

"You bitch! You fucking goddamn bitch!" He choked out, pressing his hands against his face and leaning forward in agony.

Wordlessly, Kylie leaned back and brought one silver high heel up, and with a brutal shove she made Clyde topple over. When he was down, she kicked him right in the family jewels, and he howled like a dying animal as he writhed on the ground.

"I'm the bitch that kicked your ass," she drawled, smoothing her dress down as she turned on her heel. Over her shoulder, she glared at him. "This is your only warning, you sack of shit. Leave me the fuck alone, or else."

Stan watched this all as he cowered on the ground, his arms clutched around his aching stomach; eyes awash in tears from vomiting so much. Resting his cheek against the ground, he watched Kylie's shoes draw closer to him, feeling almost hypnotized. When they finally stopped, they were less than an arms' length away, and he wanted more than anything to reach out and touch their glossy surface; little silver bows adorning the fronts. He'd even managed to move his arm a little before he felt his body losing the fight, and all at once blackness was obscuring his vision, the alcohol effectively sealing his fate as he descended into nothingness.

Lilacs. Why did he smell the subtle aroma of lilacs? That was the scent, wasn't it? He should know what they smell like, right? He was pretty sure it was his mother's favorite flower.

Stan's entire body rejected the light when he finally opened his eyes, his gaze traveling around and trying to make sense of his surroundings. For a moment, he was completely disoriented, his vision filled with thousands of twinkling fairy lights with the night sky serving as a backdrop; a multitude of stars glimmering as they danced around the moon. Cold air blew over his face, but his right cheek was so warm as it pressed against a rough surface, the wonderful aroma filtering into his nose and reviving him somewhat.

"Good morning, starshine," a soft voice lilted above him.

Startled, Stan turned his head and was completely taken aback to be staring up into Kylie's face. She smiled and it almost appeared shy, her green eyes dark as shadows fell over her face.

"Hey," she murmured, smoothing a lock of Stan's hair away from his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Confused," Stan replied, honestly; wincing as his head began to throb. "What happened?"

"You saved me from the big bad wolf," she replied, smirking a little now. "I must say you used a very original technique. Had you decided to vomit on Clyde before you attacked, or was that a spur of the moment thing?"

"Definitely spur of the moment," Stan said, blushing hotly. Rage rose in him at the mention of Clyde's name though, and he tried to sit up. "Where is he, anyway? I'll fucking kill -"

"Whoa, slow down. Relax," she soothed him, pressing him back down so his head was once more nestled in her lap. "You passed out, Stan. You need to take it easy."

"Y-you know my name," he said, stupidly; blushing even more at the feeling of his head resting on Kylie's slim thigh, her cool hand passing through his hair.

"We go to the same school," she laughed. "We're even in some of the same classes. Of course I know your name."

"But I've never talked to you," Stan stammered, feeling even more stupid now.

She was quiet for a moment, her nails softly scratching his scalp.

"I've noticed," she finally said.

"You did?"

"I just figured you were shy," she shrugged, her face inscrutable. "You watch me, though. Don't you?"

It was impossible for Stan to stay still when she asked him that, feeling unbelievably exposed and strange in the face of such an honest question. Sitting up abruptly, he sat on his knees as she watched him, the impassive expression still lingering on her face. Her red lipstick had been smeared when Clyde struck her, and her hair was still falling around her shoulders in scarlet rivers. As he studied her, one of the straps of her dress fell over her shoulder where it came to settle on her upper arm; this small happening enough to make his mouth water voraciously. She glanced at it and back at him, smiling slowly.

"You're sweet, aren't you?" She asked, righting the strap languidly. "Do you want to get out of here?"

He ran a hand through his hair, hardly comprehending what she'd just asked him. Looking down at his front, he saw that his tux was wrecked from vomit and he could've died from humiliation. Clearly, he hadn't heard her correctly.

"You don't really mean -"

"Come on," she said, getting to her feet. She reached out a hand and shook it a little until he shyly took it. "I'll drive, obviously. You aren't even sober enough to ride a bicycle right now."

Feeling like he was caught in a beautiful dream, Stan allowed himself to be led back into Token's house as the clock struck midnight; hundreds of balloons falling from the ceiling as well as showers of golden confetti. It rained down on both of them as they wound through the crowd of feverish party goers, the pieces of glitter and gold gilding Kylie's hair and settling like fairy dust on her milky shoulders.

"Happy New Year, Stan," she smiled, glancing over her shoulder at him for a moment. Turning back, she squeezed his hand lightly, his heartbeat increasing with every step they took; fragments of glitter catching the light and momentarily dazzling him, just like Kylie.

Stan was starting to think that the scent of lilacs followed Kylie everywhere she went, almost like a spell that was woven in her wake as she walked. The aroma was pressed into the seats of her car and wafting through the air of her room, where he found himself standing less than twenty minutes later. Glancing around, he was overwhelmed at how feminine his surroundings were, though he shouldn't have been surprised. Kylie's entire persona seemed to be built on soft, delicate things, and her bedroom was no exception. Her bed was a lavish affair with a canopy, the frame made of swirling white metal; heart-shaped pillows scattered across a pale pink coverlet.

Kylie kicked off her heels as Stan looked around, hands jammed awkwardly in his pockets. She walked over to her vanity and sat, her green eyes resting on Stan as she regarded her reflection.

"What do you think of my boudoir?" She asked, lifting a brush and beginning to pull it through her curls.

"I-It's nice," he said, feeling rude for being so obvious in his scrutiny. He couldn't help it, though, his eyes continuing to rove and drinking in everything; the lace curtains adorning the windows, the lamp sitting on the white bedside table with the fringed, golden shade, a rocking chair loaded down with pastel stuffed animals.

"Well, thank you," she replied, setting the brush aside and standing. "I'm glad you like it." Walking over to him, she looked into his face, twisting her mouth a little as she studied him closely. Before he could ask if there was something on his face, she was turning slowly while lifting up her hair and pulling it away from her neck.

"Can you get my zipper?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder; shadowed eyes peering out from under thick eyelashes.

Flushing, Stan could hardly believe his current circumstances. Less than an hour ago he had been painfully pining for this girl, and now he was standing in her bedroom and contemplating her long, slender back; porcelain skin practically glowing next to silver sequins. He gulped and pulled his collar a little before reaching out a trembling hand and taking hold of the zipper, holding himself back from stroking a finger along one of her fragile shoulder blades. Slowly, he pulled the zipper down, exposing more pale flesh as well as a cream-colored bra, the lacy top of Kylie's panties nearly giving him a heart attack.

"Thanks, you're a lifesaver," she said, walking away as she started to pull the feathered straps down. Walking into the bathroom, she snapped on a light and looked over her shoulder, continuing to draw the strap over her arm slowly. "Make yourself comfortable, okay? I'll be right out."

"R-right," Stan replied, his eyes lingering on Kylie's panties and hating himself for being so weak. He was acting like he'd never seen a girl's underwear before, for God's sake.

Feeling like he was coming out of his skin, he plopped down on the bed and grabbed a stuffed bunny, clutching it to his chest like it was a lifeline. He'd shed his tux jacket as soon as he'd gotten into Kylie's car, so thankfully he wasn't still covered with vomit, but he still felt severely out of his element. Here he was in a girl's bedroom, a girl he was irresistibly attracted to, and he had no fucking clue what he was doing. Jesus, she must think he was the biggest fucking douche in the world.

He'd thoroughly berated himself for being hopelessly awkward by the time she returned, dressed only in an oversized white button up shirt, her hair piled into a loose bun on her head; locks of hair spilling out around her neck and face. Walking over on bare feet, she carried the sequins dress in one hand and he watched it snake across the floor; too scared to focus on Kylie because just looking at her was enough to send him over the edge. She sat beside him and crossed her legs daintily, his eyes coming to rest on the glittery polish adorning her toenails.

"I have to say, it's kind of weird having a boy in my room," she commented, draping the dress across her lap. "It's almost surreal, actually."

"You've never had a guy in your room?" Stan asked, clearing his throat as he maintained his stranglehold on the stuffed rabbit.

She laughed a little while settling her hand on his leg, making cold sweat break out across his forehead.

"Stan, what kind of girl do you take me for?" She asked, squeezing a little. "What, do you think I'm fast or something?"

"N-no, of course not," he stammered, his entire focus centered on her little hand; the polish on her fingers matching her toenails.

"You're the first boy I've ever wanted to ask anywhere, let alone my room," she said. "I'd like to think you're different from Clyde, at any rate."

Ire coursed through Stan at the mention of that name, and he could feel his entire body tensing.

"I'm nothing like him," he seethed, hugging the rabbit harder. "He's disgusting. I hate seeing the way he treats girls, honestly. He talked about Bebe like she was a fucking dog or something."

She sighed and drew her hand away, her fingers clenching around the dress resting her lap.

"He's a product of the 'boys will be boys' mentality, I'm afraid. Naturally, I'm the ice queen for not submitting to his charms, even when I don't want them." She rolled her eyes and glanced away, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "The funny thing is, he'll swear up and down that he's a nice guy, but he's not. There's nothing nice about him."

Stan nodded slowly, his grip loosening as he turned her words over in his head.

"I guess you're not really a nice person if you have to go around announcing it to the world, huh?"

"Exactly," she smiled, standing. Reaching out, she took his hand and pulled on him.

Puzzled, he threw the rabbit aside and rose from the bed, following after her; their footsteps whispers passing through the plush carpet.

"Where are we going?" He asked, eyes traveling over the interior of the house as she pulled him down the hallway. Her home was elegantly decorated and slightly larger than Stan's, her family residing in a marginally more upscale neighborhood.

"You'll see," she replied, stopping momentarily in the kitchen to root through a drawer. Holding up a pack of matches, she shook them a little. "Wouldn't you say the best way to ring in the new year is with a big, roaring fire?"

Without waiting for his response, Kylie led him out of the kitchen and into the backyard, where the stone path brought them to a fire pit. Wordlessly, she tossed the gown in the pit and taking her hand away from Stan's, went to work pouring lighter fluid on it.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Stan asked, eyes widening as she lit a match and tossed it on the dress, a fireball tearing upward while orange flames began consuming the fabric. Little snaps and pops were the only sounds that could be heard as Kylie's face regarded the smoldering mess, a secret, little smile crawling over her lips.

"I'm starting the year on the right foot," she murmured, taking his hand again. "I'm not going to bring anything with me that makes me unhappy. I deserve better than that." Glancing at him, her face became serious.

"What do you always have in your pocket at school?" She asked, suddenly; green eyes awash in the ember's glow. "I always see you feeling in your pocket like you're making sure something's still there. What is it?"

Taken aback, Stan rubbed at the back of his neck, his eyes skipping away from her steady gaze. He couldn't believe that she'd noticed him clasping at his flask, his best friend and his very worst enemy. The fact that she'd been watching him thrilled him to the core, but he had no intention of revealing his dependence on Jack to get through the day.

"I don't really want to talk about it. Is that okay?" He replied, quietly. He half expected her to wrench her hand from his and order him out of her yard.

Instead, she leaned over and softly kissed his cheek, the beautiful scent of lilacs winding around him like a satin ribbon.

"That's okay, I understand." Drawing back, she looked sad for a moment, but it passed as quickly as it came. Watching the dress continue to burn, she smiled that secret smile again as Stan continued to reel from the perfumed kiss lingering on his cheek like a tattoo; almost missing what she said next.

"We all have our secrets, don't we?"


End file.
